Falling All In You - Shawmila
by katelynmwhite
Summary: A love story inspired by the Shawn Mendes and Camila Cabello (Shawmila) music video Señorita.
1. Chapter 1 - Shawn

They say it's impossible for girls and guys to be just friends. And I'm not here to tell you that's untrue, because I'm sure in many circumstances it's completely possible.

We were all made equal in this world. Externally we may differ, but we're all made up the same on the inside. There's a heart in each of our chests that pump blood, and a brain in our head that allows us to grow as humans, separately and together all at the same time.

But with Camila and I, it's not possible to be just friends. It never was. Not from day one when I first heard her sing, and certainly not now. Definitely not now.

The fans always asked if we were dating, we told them no. It wasn't always a lie. But no one ever asked how we fell in love. Or rather, how _I _fell in love with her. I can't speak on Camila's behalf, only on my own. And this is the story of that. The full truth. Nothing but the truth. I hope this clears this up for all of you.

We fell off for a while, dating other people, only reaching out to check up on one another once or twice a month.

Then September rolled around and the days were shorter and the nights were longer and we both found ourselves lacking inspiration in our personal work. That's when _Señorita _came about. There wasn't much of anything new going on in either of our careers. Camila was finishing up her own personal tour after also touring with Taylor Swift. She was planning on taking time off after being on the road for so long to work on her new album.

I was prepping for my own tour, but there was something missing. Even with the success and buzz around the album, and how quickly tour dates were selling out. I knew something was missing. I want to say I knew it was her, but I didn't. I'd always been in denial about anything and everything regarding Camila. The fans saw it before I ever admitted it to myself.

Camila texted me one day in September. Three simple words.

_I miss you._

Instead of texting her back, I called her.

I told her to get on the earliest flight she could manage to Toronto so I could see her.

I told myself if she did then I would tell her how I felt about her.

Never thought she would say yes.

Until she did.


	2. Chapter 2 - Camila

I don't know why I agreed to go see him like I did. But I couldn't help myself. I miss him. And I'm not usually one to hold myself back from things I miss. When I miss my family, I travel to see them. When I miss home, I travel there even if it means driving my manager insane because I have to switch around my travel plans to get to a performance on time.

This life doesn't stop for anyone or anything. I knew it when I first stepped under the lights for the first time.

But right now, I'm not touring. I'm not traveling across the country overnight and performing in a city thousands of miles from where I was the previous night. And I'm also not writing right now, which is what I told everyone I was going to be doing for a while. Unplugging from the internet and laying out by the pool with melodies playing until something stuck because this is _my _album. My album that I've wanted for so long and I can finally have. It's just—every time I sit down to write, I think about him.

Everything about him.

That perfect smile and the way he runs his hand through his hair. How he looks away when I catch him looking at me.

And I know you're supposed to put your emotions into music because that's how you connect with your fans, by giving them a voice and lyrics they can relate and understand to. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely and completely terrified of what all of this means for the two of us.

Shawn is my best friend. My _bestest _friend. The one I turn to when things go wrong. These songs aren't songs about friends, though. They're songs about denying feelings and being in love with someone you know you shouldn't be in love with.

And they have his name written all over him.

The funny thing is, I didn't even know what my fingers were doing when I typed out that text message to him. It was the first I'd sent him in a while, and it consisted of the only three words I think when I hear his music come through the speakers strung up around my deck.

_I miss you._

It was a severe understatement and I knew it even as I pressed send. Because I do miss him. But I've never missed someone so bad that I've craved the scent of their cologne clinging to my body after he hugs me for a few seconds too long, or the way his hoodies wore like dresses on me when it got cold on the tour bus.

I've been afraid of all of this for years now. Afraid of how I am when I'm with him. Alive and carefree; wanting to jump up and down and dance like a child on a playground. And I've been ignoring how everyone in the media says we belong together. _Shawmila _they call us. It's got a nice ring to it. Though, I would have called us Camawn or something. Because putting the ladies first is priorities these days.

I'm scared to see him, and I know I shouldn't be scared to see him. He's my friend. The same guy who held me when I cried over another celebrity dishing our relationship on public television when I knew how he felt about me.

And I did know. Deep down.

I know he loves me and I know I love him. But nothing is ever that simple in life. It's just not. Especially not in ours.

There's never been any denying how Shawn feels about me. And I'm not conceited, I swear. I truly never believed it until Taylor showed me the lyrics to _Treat You Better, _which I already knew by heart, and insisted they were about me. I saw the song in a new light that day. A big, bright light that made me feel sick and queasy and made my heart race so hard I thought I was going to pass out.

And trust me, I did not want Taylor to be right about that song being about me. Or the countless others she texted me on tour with winky faces and hearts.

Didn't want her to be right at all.

But I knew she was.


	3. Chapter 3 - Shawn

Being nervous around Camila isn't anything new. She toured with me a few years back and just knowing she was standing in the wings of the stage waiting to come out to perform with me made me sweat even more than I already was under those bright lights.

It's always amazed me how I could stand in front of a crowd of 95,000 people for weeks in a row, but somehow, the sole person in my peripheral vision was able to make my knees shake so bad I had to take a moment to myself and pull it together before she came dancing onto the stage next to me.

My knees are doing the same buckling thing they used to back then right now as I stand in the middle of the airport with two dozen red roses—her favorite—in one hand and my other one shoved so deep in my pocket to keep it from shaking while I wait here for her.

I've gotten really good at blending in with other people in public over the last five years. At the start of my career, people only recognized me here and there. Some would ask for a selfie or an autograph, and I loved when someone recognized me. Not that I don't now. I still love every one of my fans. Without them, none of this would be possible. But when all of this started, there was this rush that would start out in my stomach and snake itself up and into my chest. People recognized me, and they knew my lyrics. The words that meant more to me than anything else ever did. And they'd sing them to me, or speak them at me and I would get this big smile on my face that my parents would laugh about later on at dinner because I'd still be wearing it.

But now, it's like I can't even step out of my own apartment building without the paparazzi hovering in my face with their flashing cameras and notepads where they write down every word I say and then later post on their online tabloids. Though, with my black hood pulled up over my head and my sunglasses masking half of my face, no one will recognize me as they race past me to catch their flights. Except for Camila. She's always been able to pull me out of a crowd no matter what I'm wearing to mask myself amongst the general population. Maybe it's because she's used to doing the same. I don't even have to see her to know that when she gets off her plane she'll be in a velvet jumpsuit and some kind of ball cap pulled down far over her face so no one can see those big brown eyes of hers.

Everyone knows her eyes. It's impossible not to. They're a light shade of honey brown and her eyelashes are so long it's like they fan the rest of her face when she blinks. They're breathtaking, and I've known it since the minute I met her. I couldn't look away from them, or her, and when she finally let go of our eye-contact, I longed for the moment she decided to bring it back.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I pull it out to a text from Camila saying her flight has landed. I send back a quick _okay _and prop myself against the pillar I'm leaning on. It'll only be a few minutes or so before she walks to baggage claim and waits for her suitcase to spin around the wheel.

A crowd of people emerge from the terminal she's set to come out of and I duck my head toward the ground so there's no chance anyone will figure out I'm here. The last thing I need today is someone recognizing me and ruining my surprise. The piercing sound of teenage girls shrieking will catch the attention of everyone else in the airport and I'll be swarmed before I can even get to her.

She walks out now. In a pair of velvet, navy blue sweatpants with the word _Juicy _stitched into the pocket on her left leg. On tour, she wore a similar black pair that had the same word written across her butt. She caught me looking multiple times and she'd just shake her head and wiggle her finger in the air at me, sucking her teeth during the process.

I wait until she's standing in front of the luggage machine to walk over to her. She's tapping her foot on the cement floor below her, impatiently. She's always been so impatient. I stand behind her, looking like another person waiting for their bag as a few people retrieve their own and quickly make their way toward another area of the airport.

"Camila."

She turns around, reaching for her sunglasses. "Shawn?"

A lump the size of a golf ball settles into my throat and I hold the flowers out to her, but instead of taking them she wraps her arms around my neck and pulls me to her until our bodies collide.

"I thought you would have sent a car for me." she says, low enough no one can hear her, but loud enough I can. That's one of the things I love about her. When she talks to me in public she has this soft, quiet voice that no one but me can hear. Being the lone receiver of whatever Camila Cabello has to say makes my insides turn over.

"I could have." I shrug in her arms. "But I wanted to be the first person to see you once you landed."

She drops her arms around my back and hugs me again. "I missed you."

"I know." I try not to pay too much attention to how perfectly my chin rests on her head. She's just the right amount of short for our bodies to fit like glue. "I missed you, too."


End file.
